


Family Ties

by threeplusfire



Series: Filthy Money [3]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Family Dynamics, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t know what’s normal,” Ross said. “I guess you think whatever you grow up with is normal.”</p><p>A terrible dinner sheds light on old wounds when Ross introduces Smith and Trott to his parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Ties

**Author's Note:**

> This story was an accidental thing, spawned out of a larger conversation about the histories of these characters. Many thanks to Leon for providing the spark that sent me down this path.
> 
> In case it isn't clear by now, this AU is set in America and the characters are Americans. Hence many American references. The bacon slamburger at Denny's is actually pretty good.

Trott quite liked traveling out of town for meetings. Usually it meant a train ride, which gave him time to read and prepare. Even driving wasn’t so bad, especially when one of the others volunteered. He let himself put his feet up, stretching out across the back seat as Smith and Ross argued over the music.

“I’m driving, I get final say,” Smith declared. “You listen to trash, Ross.”

“You’re a snob,” Ross shot back, rolling his eyes. “This from a man who listens to Taylor Swift!”

“What, I like a lot of things!”

“Just pick something already,” Trott said. “How much further, Ross?”

“Oh.” Ross squinted out the windshield. “Twenty minutes or so, now that we’re off the highway.”

They were having dinner with Ross’ parents, who lived a few hours away from the city. He hadn’t really explained why, but then Ross never said much about his family. Trott figured it was just the convenience of it. It meant another night away from home, since no one really wanted to drive back after dinner. But that was fine. Tomorrow was Friday on a holiday weekend, and there wasn’t a rush.  

“I crashed my bike over here, when I was twelve or so.” Ross peered out the window at a gravel path winding between the trees. He did not mention the aftermath of the crash, how he’d concealed the accident from his parents, or cleaned up his injuries furtively before anyone got home.

“No wonder you don’t want to ride in the city,” Smith laughed.

“Yeah,” Ross agreed. “Take a right up here.” Smith drove with one hand on the wheel, fingers tapping to the beat of the music as Ross directed him through the twisting, shady streets.

Trott watched the scenery from where he sat in the back of the car, thinking it was not all that different from the place he’d grown up. Even the scale and shape of the houses felt familiar, plenty of large, peaked roof houses with wide green lawns and ornamental lamp posts. There were less hedges and gates, though. Absorbed in comparing and contrasting his own hometown with this one, Trott missed Ross’ gradual descent into silence. Smith sang along to the music, cranking the stereo louder.

It was only noticeable when they finally parked on the street in front of a large two story white house with dark blue shutters. Ross stared at it, chewing on his lip. The brick path lead to wooden steps and a wide front porch that stretched across the entire front of the house. A dark Lexus was parked in the driveway. From the outside it looked immaculate, like a postcard.

“Ross?” Trott asked, when he didn’t move to get out. “This is the right house, yeah?”

Smith was already out of the car, stretching his arms over his head. His shirt rode up, coming loose from his trousers. Trott wondered if they should put their jackets back on, but dismissed the thought.

“Yeah.” Ross shook himself.

The street was quiet, aside from a lanky teenager mowing the lawn several doors down. The midsummer air was thick with golden sunlight, and just a bit too warm for office clothes. Smith glanced around appreciatively, wishing he could just throw himself into the shady grass under a tree. It looked cool and inviting. It would be even better with Trott and Ross laying there. Smith stumbled on the step, snapping out of his daydream.

“Careful,” Trott murmured, reaching out a steadying hand. They gathered in front of the door, painted the same dark blue as the shutters. Ross knocked, pushing Smith’s hand away from the bell.

“She hates that-” he began. The door opened on a tall woman with dark, artfully arranged hair. She frowned for a moment, and then smoothed a hand down her pale blue and white striped summer dress to compose herself.

“Ross, I didn’t think you would be here so soon!” She hugged him, a quick and efficient movement. Ross barely had time to raise his arm to return the hug. He swayed a little on his feet when she pulled back.  

“Hi Mom.” Ross gestured at Smith and Trott, a sheepish grin on his face. “This is- ah, these are my business partners. Chris Trott and Alex Smith.”

“Evelyn Hornby.” She held out her hand, a slender diamond tennis bracelet sparkling in the afternoon light. Trott took her hand, noticing the immaculate manicure. Evelyn was easily his height, which somehow didn’t surprise him. Ross’ family was probably a group of giants.

“So nice to meet you,” Trott said smoothly. He breathed a little sigh of relief when Smith followed suit. Trott raised his eyebrows at Ross. He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected from this. At least they were still decently dressed from their last morning meeting. Trott surreptitiously tucked the back of Smith’s shirt in as they stepped inside.

“Come in, come in.” Evelyn stepped back, her shoes clicking on the wooden floor. Trott glanced around, looking back just in time to see Ross shrug off Smith’s hand with a quick shake of his head. Trott wondered now, trying to remember if Ross had ever said anything about whether his parents knew he was gay. He so rarely spoke about them, and his visits tended to be quick. Ross hadn’t ever asked them along on any of those visits, and Trott wondered if there was something special about this, or if was just proximity.

“We weren’t expecting you so early,” Evelyn said over her shoulder as she swept down the hall to the back of the house.

“Where’s Spencer?” Ross asked, following his mother into the kitchen. Smith and Trott trailed behind him. A bay window looked out of the backyard, and held a tiny breakfast table.

“Is he out back? Usually he’s at the door.” Ross glanced around curiously, moving to the window.

“Who?” Evelyn glanced over from where she filled glasses with ice from the fridge door dispenser. It made a racket. Smith fought the urge to run his hand along the gleaming marble countertops. He wondered if this was where Ross learned to cook, and tried to picture him making pancakes in here. Everything was so neat and organized, unlike their kitchen. The dishes probably all matched. He reached out for the bowl of apples, wondering if they were real. They were absurdly shiny and perfect, stacked on top of each other. It felt strangely unused, like something you’d see in a magazine.

“My - the dog…” Ross looked confused. Smith frowned, watching Ross.

“Oh!” Evelyn paused, setting the glasses on the counter.  

“Honey, we put Spencer to sleep ages ago.”

“What?” Ross nearly shouted. Trott raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t you remember?” His mother squinted, making a puzzled face. Smith could see the resemblance then, in the way she drew her eyebrows together. Her eyes were much darker, more of a gray.

“I’m sure I told you about it, the accident happened in January-”

“Accident?” Ross’ voice pitched up, getting louder. Smith glanced at Trott, worried now. Trott tapped his fingers on his wrist, their silent code for _wait and see_. Smith fidgeted, spinning an apple on the counter top.

“Honestly Ross, it was ages ago.” Evelyn turned away, opening the fridge. She pulled out a pink glass pitcher, and held it with a questioning look. “Do you think your friends would like some lemonade, or should I make coffee?”

“You didn’t tell me you put Spencer down!”

“Please lower your voice, dear, and let’s not talk about this in front of your guests.”

Expecting a furious response, both Smith and Trott were startled by the slump of Ross’ shoulders. He never capitulated so easily. Evelyn gestured at the tray on the kitchen counter. “Help me carry this into the living room.” Ignoring Ross’ dejected expression, she smiled brightly at Trott and Smith.

“I’m so sorry, where are my manners, come sit down.” Evelyn lead them back across the foyer to a front sitting room. It was as neat and well put together as a Pottery Barn or Restoration Hardware showroom. Trott found it slightly at odds with the very traditional New England look to the outside of the house. Trott chatted politely and superficially with Evelyn, complimenting the house and asking questions. With great cheer, Evelyn spoke about the recent redecorating she’d done, brightening up the house after living there almost two decades. Trott swallowed his mild horror at the bronze horse head lamp on a side table, and instead complimented the large, caramel colored sofas with a multitude of velvet throw pillows. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what made the whole thing seem out of place. Maybe it was the odd metal Eiffel tower on a side table, or the generically bland landscape paintings hanging on the walls.

“Of course it’s much too big for us now that the children are all out of the nest,” said Evelyn with a sigh. “But I’m sure it will be perfect for when the grandchildren start arriving.” She twitched the curtain, adjusting the sash. Trott nodded, glancing around. He wondered if the rest of the house looked exactly like this, or if there was another living room hidden away where they had sagging armchairs and an enormous television. Even the fireplace was spotless, not a sign that it had ever burned so much as a match.

Smith lagged a bit behind, glancing towards Ross with worry. Ross avoided making eye contact, carrying the tray of glasses and pitcher of lemonade carefully. He set them gently on the coffee table, and busied himself filling the glasses. Hopefully his mother had at least purchased the lemonade from the store and dumped it straight from the bottle into the pitcher, rather than making the awful powdered stuff.

“How are things in the city?” Evelyn asked, when Ross handed her a glass.

“It’s fine.” The short, almost monotone answer was so out of character that Smith and Trott both openly stared at Ross. This had gotten strange very quickly, and Trott shared a baffled glance with Smith.

“Keeping busy with your work?”

“Yes.” Ross filled the other glasses, careful not to let the pitcher drip.

“I would think you’d meet all kinds of interesting people.” Evelyn set her glass down without drinking, and folded her hands on her lap. Her bracelet winked in the afternoon sunlight coming through the tall windows.

“Yes we do,” Ross said. Smith snorted, thinking about Sips. Trott gave him a disapproving look.

“Do any of them know your sister?” Evelyn asked brightly, seemingly unfazed by Ross’ clipped replies. She turned to Trott. “I’m sure he’s told you all about Madison.”

“I don’t think Ross likes to brag,” Trott hedged. He racked his brain, trying to think if Ross had ever actually said anything about his sister. The name wasn’t familiar. Smith shook his head.

“Oh Ross, you shouldn’t be too proud to mention your sister. I’m certain it would really open some doors for you.” Evelyn shifted in her seat, setting her drink carefully on a coaster. “We think Madison’s going to be picked for the American team for the next Olympics, you know.”

“Really?” Trott murmured. He knew exactly what to expect now from this conversation, and found himself falling into the rhythm of it easily. “I didn’t realize how close that was.”

“Oh yes,” Evelyn laughed, her voice girlish and younger than her clothes or her face. “Years and years of practices and training to get to this point, it’s so very competitive. But Madison is one of the best soccer players in the entire country, and that’s not just a mother’s opinion.”

“I honestly don’t know much about soccer,” Trott admitted, glad he at least had a clue now what to talk about. He pushed a small coaster, stencilled with an Eiffel tower over a sepia toned map of Paris, closer to Smith. A part of him judged this entire situation with the snobbery of his upbringing. He could imagine his mother’s reaction to this home, the obvious effort that went into trying to make it look effortless.

“We tried to get Ross to play, but he just never really put any effort into it,” sighed Evelyn. “Did you play any sports, Chris?”

“I played a bit of lacrosse in high school,” Trott said smoothly. Ross’ mother looked delighted.

“Oh how lovely, Madison played lacrosse in high school as well! It fit into the off season so nicely for her…” Evelyn reached over for a photo album. Trott leaned forward, feigning interest in whatever she was about to show him.

Ross sat in a chair, instead of next to Smith. He stared at a family photo on the sideboard, the five of them in front of the house just before Madison left for university on her soccer scholarship. His parents flanked Madison, and his younger brother was tucked under his mother’s arm. Ross stood next to his brother. looking down. Sitting in front of Ross was a golden retriever with a goofy expression, tongue lolling out of his mouth.  

Smith sipped at his drink, jaw tightening from the almost painful artificial sweet and sour taste. He tried to watch Ross covertly, baffled and distressed by his silence and remove. Smith wanted to reach out, wrap his arms around him. But he didn’t need Trott’s warning look to know that might not be a good idea.

“Mom,” Ross began.

“Yes dear?”

“I could make dinner if you wanted,” he offered. Something about the shy way he spoke made Smith bite hard on the inside of his cheek.

“Oh honey that’s alright, I’ve got a casserole in the fridge already.” Evelyn looked at the clock. “I should put that in soon.”

“Really, it’s not any trouble-”

“Ross, the maid’s already been here and I just don’t want a big mess in the kitchen.” Evelyn shook her head. “Your father hates it when the house is messy when he gets home.”

“Okay,” Ross sighed. “I’ll go put the casserole in the oven for you.”

“Thank you, sweetie.” She beamed at him for a moment, then turned back to Trott. “It’s been ever so much easier to do meals now that Ross’ brother is at university, Oliver has so many food allergies. The poor child practically lived on chicken nuggets for a bit until we could get him sorted on a special diet.”

Behind his mother, Ross rolled his eyes. He left the room, pausing to look at the photo from the sideboard again. Smith watched him go, until he felt Trott nudge him and he returned his attention to the conversation.

 

* * *

 

In the kitchen, Ross silently plated the casserole with a resigned expression. The smell of it turned his stomach, dragging up unwelcome memories. He regretted bringing the others here. The idea that maybe if there were other people around, it wouldn’t be so bad seemed foolish in hindsight. Now they knew exactly what a useless lump he was, compared to his hyper talented sister and brother. They also could see just how unimpressed and uninterested his parents were, especially since he wasn’t living up to their expectations. Ross wanted nothing more than to grab them and run for the door. He was a fool for thinking that he could do this.

In the dining room, Trott was making pleasant small talk about sports or some other innocuous topic with Ross’ father. Smith was glad Trott seemed to know what to do in this increasingly weird and uncomfortable situation. Talking to anyone was easy, and Smith didn’t mind it. But he hadn’t expected things to be this strange, or for Ross to be so unlike himself here.

“What is that?” Smith whispered, standing on the other side of the kitchen island. He braced his hands on the marble counter, leaning forward towards the pan and stack of plates.

“Tuna noodle casserole,” Ross whispered back.

“What the ever loving fuck…” Smith made a face. “Are there… peas in there?”

“Frozen peas, cream of mushroom soup, tuna fish, macaroni…” Ross bit back a laugh at Smith’s expression of growing horror. “Don’t worry it mostly tastes like salt. And at least she’s got a salad. That’s an improvement, though god knows what kind of dressing there is for it...”

Ross opened the fridge, and considered the options for salad dressing. He considered the dubiously orange catalina dressing, a container of fat-free ranch and a nondescript vinaigrette. It seemed the least offensive option of the three, and Ross pulled out the bottle.

“You okay?” Smith asked more seriously, picking up some of the plates.

Ross just shook his head. Smith was about to say something more, but Evelyn bustled back into the room, heels clicking on the floor.

“Oh Alex, go sit down!” she exclaimed cheerfully. “Ross, don’t make your guests serve their own dinner!” She took the plate from Smith’s hands, and herded him back towards the dining room.

Trott was already seated at the rectangular table, set with delicate placemats and the nice sort of silverware Smith remembered from visiting Trott’s family. No cheap mismatched stuff like they had at home, or knives with plastic handles.

There was even an actual centerpiece, a low silver bowl full of some kind of flower. He couldn’t smell them, though. Smith wanted to reach out and touch them to see if they were real, like the apples. Instead he settled into the tufted chair beside Trott, and wondered if Ross’ parents always ate at the table like this.

 

* * *

 

Dinner dragged on for almost an hour. The salad, simple romaine and carrots with a sherry vinaigrette, was the most bearable thing about the meal. Trott felt certain that the dressing came out of a plastic grocery store bottle, and included little actual sherry. The tuna noodle casserole was sticky, covered in melted american cheese, and chunks of greyish canned tuna. Trott and Smith accepted the beers Ross’ father offered them, though Ross was the one who got up from the table to get them.

Dr Warren Hornby sat at the head of the table, methodically consuming the almost inedible casserole. He seemed oblivious to the taste and texture, as did Evelyn. Trott wondered if it was stoicism in the face of his wife’s awful cooking, or just a complete disregard for pleasure or taste. His dark hair was liberally flecked with grey, and Dr Hornby wore rimless glasses. Aside from a superficial resemblance in profile, he was nothing like his son. Trott wouldn’t be surprised if the man made his children call him ‘doctor’ instead of ‘dad.’ He wondered if there was anything that could make the man laugh.

Smith and Trott sat side by side across from Ross. Several times, Smith looked about to make some comment in response to the absurd conversation and meal, which Trott headed off with a quick kick to the ankle. Under the edge of the table Smith laid his hand flat on his leg, palm face up in a silent _what the fuck_ gesture. Trott shook his head, the tiniest movement he could make, warning Smith off whatever he wanted to say.

“It’s so good to see you eating, Ross.” Evelyn beamed at her son, then looked to Trott. “He was such a fussy eater as a child, sometimes he sat here until nearly 10pm before he would finish his dinner.”

“That’s hard to imagine,” Trott said diplomatically. Of course they were the sort of people who would make a kid sit there, facing down a cold plate of unpalatable food. He kicked Smith again, catching sight of the raised eyebrows from the corner of his vision.

Across the table, Ross ate bite after bite of the casserole with an expressionless face. Trott felt a little queasy watching him. He did not like this silent, subdued Ross. Earlier that day, he would have found it unfathomable that Ross would even eat a meal like this, much less do it without a single comment. Trott tried to cut himself a bite that didn’t have any tuna, drowning the taste with a swallow of beer.

“Really, it was quite hard to have such a picky child when it was all I could do to keep Madison fed enough for all her activities, and then with Oliver’s allergies…” Evelyn continued, chirpily illuminating her hardships as a mother of three. She paused for a breath, reaching for her glass.

“The business going well for you then?” Dr Hornby finally spoke into the silence, his voice deep and solemn.

“Pretty good, we just closed out a major deal a couple weeks ago.” Ross took a long drink of his water. “Yesterday we put together something that I think-”

“Making any money at it yet?” interrupted Dr Hornby.

Trott nearly choked at the question, so baldly put forth. Ross licked his lips, and met his father’s gaze in a show of confidence and enthusiasm.

“Enough to pay the rent. We’re in the black overall, which is pretty good I think for starting out…” His words slowed, crashing into the unresponsive face of his father. Ross hesitated, waiting for some judgment. The light glinted on Dr Hornby’s glasses.

“Hmm.” Dr Hornby took another bite of his casserole. “Your brother’s going pre-med, you know. Excellent grades.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Ross looked back down, twisting his fork in his hand.

“He’s spending his summer on an exchange, practicing his French,” Evelyn chattered.

“Of course he is,” Ross said, a shade of sarcasm in his tone. Dr Hornby frowned at him.

“Are you still seeing that girl… what was her name?” Evelyn asked in the ensuing silence.

Ross opened his mouth, and froze when he caught Trott’s eye. Trott waited to see what he would do, keeping his expression carefully neutral. He was very, very curious to see how far Ross would lie in this situation.

“I didn’t know you were seeing a girl,” Smith said suddenly. Trott ground his foot into Smith’s ankle, struggling to keep his irritation about Smith’s outburst hidden from view. Ross flushed, wiping at his mouth with his napkin.

“No Mom, we broke up ages ago, before I even left university.”

“Oh, I thought you mentioned you were going to dinner with someone the last time we talked.”

“That was just…” Ross hesitated, fumbling with his napkin. “Alex, I mean-”

Trott bit his lip, catching the distress in Ross’ every word. It answered his earlier question about whether Ross’ parents knew anything about his current life. Trott let his fork clatter to the plate, the sound loud enough to draw attention to him.

“I’m afraid we keep Ross so busy with work, he hardly has time to get out and meet anyone,” Trott interrupted. He flashed an apologetic smile at Evelyn. “Ross is just so necessary to what we’re doing, you see. Absolute backbone of the company.”

Evelyn smiled, and reached out to pat Ross on the shoulder. Dr Hornby just finished off his beer, and checked his phone, clearly uninterested in the rest of the table.

“Ross, you should really make some time to start meeting girls.” Glancing at Smith and Trott, Evelyn offered them an insincere smile. “Your business partners are quite lovely, but you can’t spend forever as a bachelor! You do need to think about settling down, after all.”

Smith flashed a smile back that was just as insincere. He wanted nothing more than to take Ross by the hand and lead him out of the room. Maybe after kissing him senseless right at the table. He eyed Ross, who smiled grimly at his mother without speaking.

“You know, your sister is going to be engaged any day now! I don’t want to be ancient by the time the grandchildren come around!” Evelyn giggled, another of her oddly girlish laughs.

Moment passed, Ross’ mother began elaborating on Madison’s boyfriend of some years and her hopes for a spring wedding before the Olympics. Ross looked back down at his plate. A small wedge of casserole still sat there, the cheese congealing around the macaroni noodles. Ross carefully took another bite, forcing it down before the taste could register.

 

* * *

 

Smith conveniently provided a reason to leave, yawning through the coffee after dinner. Dr Hornby had already excused himself, citing some professional obligation. He’d awkwardly shaken Ross’ hand before disappearing further into the house. Ross did not watch him leave, turning immediately back to his coffee. Unlike the meal, this was at least palatable.

“Are you staying in a hotel?” Evelyn asked, brow furrowed.

“Yes, Mom.” Ross collected their cups, missing the flash of relief on his mother’s face. Trott registered it though, unsurprised.

“Oh, well, that’s probably for the best. I’m still having the bedrooms redone so the only one with a bed right now is Oliver’s…” She waved her hands, watching Ross clear the cups. Smith yawned again, this time covering his mouth with an apologetic glance. Trott rose from the table.

“Thank you for the lovely evening,” Trott said, taking Evelyn’s hand with all the old fashioned grace his mother had insisted he learn. “It was so kind of you to have us for dinner.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.” Evelyn patted his hand. Ross approached, and gave her a longer hug, much to Evelyn’s apparent discomfort. Turning away, Trott tried to give them a moment of privacy as he urged Smith towards the door.

“Goodnight, dear.” Evelyn waved from the door, closing it before they were even off the steps. Smith puffed out a breath, clearly dying to say something. Trott pushed him forward into the dark.

“I’ll drive,” Ross said, holding his hand out for the keys as they tromped down the driveway to the street.

“You sure?” Smith hesitated. Ross held his hand out wordlessly, standing beside the car. Trott climbed into the passenger seat, watching Ross with a careful eye. Smith clambered into the back with a little groan.

“Sorry about dinner,” Ross finally said in a quiet voice as they pulled away from the curb. “I think there’s a diner right by the hotel if you want some real food.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Trott eyed the speedometer, but Ross drove evenly and carefully through the neighborhood. His remarkable self control did not fill Trott with confidence however. There was an edge to his calm silence. Smith reached through the gap in the seats to flip on the radio.

 

* * *

 

In the Denny’s, Smith and Trott sandwiched Ross between them in the circular corner booth out of some unspoken protective instinct. A bored waitress handed out menus and silverware.

“I’ll have a bacon slamburger and a coke.” Ross ordered without even looking at the menu. “And a chocolate peanut butter milkshake.”

Trott blinked, wondering where Ross had room to cram in another meal on top of the one he’d already eaten. He looked across at Smith, who turned the full force of his charm on the waitress to order an appetizer platter full of onion rings, jalapeno poppers and chicken strips.

“I’ll just have a cup of coffee.” Trott slid his menu across the table, grateful for once for the weird sameness of chain restaurants. He wasn’t really sure he could eat, but he’d gladly poach some of Ross’ fries.

“Are we going to talk about how weird that was?” Smith blurted out once they were alone.

Ross shrugged, staring out the window at the parking lot. Lights from the road flashed by, traffic still busy even this late in the evening. He was still blank, unusually quiet.

“Smith,” Trott sighed. “Don’t.”

“Trott, that was weird.” Beside him, Ross nudged Smith in the ribs.

“I need to piss.” He slid out of the booth, and walked quickly towards the men's room. They watched him weave around a waitress carrying a tray of pancakes.

“Let it alone, Smith.” Trott sighed, running a hand through his hair. His stomach churned a bit, though he’d only eaten about half his plate.

“But Trott-” Smith tapped his fingers on the table, a fast and anxious beat.

“It just happened, and he’s obviously not okay but he’s not going to open up about whatever the fuck that horrorshow was right now.” Under the table, Trott squeezed Smith’s hand. “Just, let it wait. He’s probably embarrassed as hell. Not to mention he just found out his dog died and no one told him.”

“That was horrendous,” Smith growled. “His parents are awful, jesus Trott. I thought your family was cold, but that was something else entirely.”

“I know. Go easy on him until he’s ready to talk about it.” Trott sank back into the booth, mulling over the entire weird visit. He’d seen an extraordinary number of photos of Ross’ sister, and heard the entire history of his younger brother’s health woes. Trott genuinely wondered how a kid with so many allergies could survive Evelyn’s cooking. But there had been little trace of Ross, in photographs or in the stories his mother told. Even the questions directed at Ross from his parents were superficial, easily brushed off and never followed up for any further details. Trott felt like he spent more time talking to Ross’ father than Ross actually did.

The men’s room was thankfully empty, and his footsteps echoed on the beige tiles. Ross spent a silent moment with the heels of his hands pressed to his face, locked in a stall. Carefully he breathed in and out, trying to slow his racing heartbeat, and the queasy feeling in his stomach.

Whatever he’d hoped, that visit had not been it. Bringing Smith and Trott had only made that even more humiliating, because now they knew. There was no more hiding what a disaster he was. Ross felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly, and wished he had thought to pack something. He’d eaten just to keep his mother from nagging him, even though he hated the food. At the time, it seemed the lesser of two evils but now he regretted the choice.

Ross briefly considered trying to make himself vomit, but that seemed too weird and undignified and awful to do in a Denny’s bathroom. Someone would surely come in and assume he was already drunk, so early in the evening. He leaned his head into the wall for several long minutes, before he pushed himself out to wash his hands. The water wasn’t cold enough, but he splashed his face and tried to settle himself. Ross straightened, wiping away the last of the water, and walked back to the table.

 

* * *

 

Trott was glad they’d decided driving back to the city tonight was too much. Even a mediocre chain hotel was better than being on the road, or spending more awkward hours with Ross’ family. It was clean, and reasonably comfortable, even if they were stuck with two beds.

“Fuck, my stomach hurts.” Ross leaned his head against the wall, sitting in the low armchair by the window. He hadn’t said much during their meal. Ross hadn’t even really enjoyed the food, just eaten with the same methodical intensity he’d shown at his parents’ home. Trott had finished off the milkshake when Ross pushed it away.

“No shit, you have eaten so much-” Smith stopped himself with a grimace. He felt mildly queasy himself after too much greasy food on top of their terrible dinner. He sat on the edge of the bed, flipping channels on the television.

“I saw a drugstore across the street.” Trott twitched the curtain closed and picked up one of the room keys. “I’ll go see what they’ve got.”

“Shitting hell,” he groaned. Ross launched himself out of the chair, one hand pressed against his stomach and a miserable expression on his face. He headed to the bathroom, pale and shaky. The door banged shut behind him.

“Grab some ginger ale or something while you’re there,” Smith said. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” They paused, hearing the sound of Ross heaving up both of his dinners.

“Mouthwash too, he’ll want that.”

“Back as soon as I can,” he promised, slipping out the door with a quick kiss to Smith’s cheek. Smith waited, half listening and half trying not to listen as Ross huddled in the bathroom. When silence stretched on for a good five minutes, he knocked on the door.

“Ross? You okay in there?” The toilet flushed, and Smith pushed open the door.

Ross knelt on the floor, arms braced on the seat of the toilet. Smith watched his shoulders, tense and hunched.

“Ross?” he called again, his voice softer.

“Sorry.” Ross’ voice was hoarse. “Would you get me some water?”

“Yeah.” Smith filled one of the plastic cups by the sink, and handed it to Ross. He swished a mouthful, spitting it into the toilet, repeating the process several times. Smith tried not to watch, instead pulling down one of the hand towels from the rack in the shower and soaking it in the cold water.

“Here,” he offered, crouching down to wipe Ross’ face.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ross repeated numbly, face flushed with misery and embarrassment. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Smith said in a firm voice. “You know that.”

“What a fucking mess.”

“I don’t know, looks like you got it all in the toilet.”

Ross laughed weakly at that, and Smith hoped that was a sign he was coming out of the terrible mood of the past several hours.

“This is so fucking horrible,” Ross whispered. He sat back on his heels. Smith joined him, sitting just behind him. He leaned against the tub and stretched his legs.

“Throwing up is pretty awful,” he agreed, skirting the subject he was sure they were actually discussing.

“I’m really sorry you had to deal with my parents.”

“It’s alright, Ross.”

“No, it’s really not.” He glanced at Smith, and away quickly. “They’re… fuck.”

“I’m really sorry about Spencer,” Smith whispered as the silence stretched on. “That was pretty terrible.”

Ross nodded. He felt tears welling up and tried to swallow them away. They kept coming though, and Ross bit down hard on his lower lip in hopes the temporary discomfort would distract him. It didn’t work. A small sob escaped, the sound ragged.

“Hey, hey, come here.” Smith pulled him back so Ross was sideways against his chest. The touch broke loose Ross’ tenuous self control. The first wracking sob made him curl almost in half. Within a few seconds, tears dripped freely down his face as he cried.

“I’m so sorry Ross, it’s okay, get it out.” Smith ignored the hard floor and the discomfort of the bath tub’s edge across the middle of his back. He concentrated on Ross, who was doing his best to curl into a small ball in his arms. Smith’s still socked feet slipped on the floor as he tried to push himself up and just a bit further away from the toilet. He settled for pulling Ross against his chest and half into his lap.

Ross wept for several solid minutes, hot tears soaking into Smith’s shirt. Keeping up the soothing voice, Smith repeated whatever he could think that sounded comforting. He stroked Ross’ back, feeling the way his sobs shook him. The sound brought a lump to Smith’s throat. He’d never seen Ross cry so hard. Sniffles and a few hasty tears at sad movies, but never a full on weeping breakdown. It terrified him to see Ross so devastated, when Smith didn’t know how to ease his pain. Smith felt a fierce and electric loathing for Ross’ parents for bringing their son to this.  

“I’ve got you,” Smith whispered, resting his head against Ross’ hair. “I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’m here.” He felt Ross snake an arm around his waist. Smith murmured into his hair, keeping him close.

The door to their room opened with the loud snick of the electronic lock.

“Ross, Smith?” Trott called, letting the door fall shut with a thump.

“Trott’s back,” Smith said, rubbing his hand against Ross’ back. “He’s probably got something to help you feel better.”

Trott peered around the door, his brows drawn together anxiously. Ross hiccuped, trying to catch his breath. Smith handed him a ragged wad of toilet paper to blow his nose, and wiped gently at his face again with the towel.

“You want something for the nausea, or the ginger ale first?” Trott crouched beside them, a couple shopping bags in his hands.

“Medicine,” Ross said thickly, head down. Trott passed him a bottle, and Ross drank directly from it, not bothering with the little plastic measuring cup. When he was finished, Trott gave him the bottle of mouthwash. Ross rinsed his mouth while Smith kept rubbing circles over his back.

“Feel any better now that you’ve thrown up?” asked Trott. Ross nodded, still avoiding eye contact.

“Come on, let’s put you in bed.”

“What if I throw up again?” Ross sounded miserable.

“That’s why we have a hotel room with two beds. Now come on, up.” Trott took his hand, helping Ross to his feet. Ross stumbled to the sink, flipping on the cold water. His eyes were red in the mirror, nose dripping, his face splotched. Ross cringed inwardly about being a messy crier. He plunged his hands into the water and splashed his face, avoiding his reflection.

 

* * *

 

Stripped down to undershirts and boxers, the three of them piled into one of the beds. Smith set the television on some mindless movie they’d all seen before, leaving the volume low. With only one of the bedside lamps on, the room was dim. Trott filled up a cup with ice and topped it off with some ginger ale. He glanced at the chocolate bars he’d stuck in the bag, but left them. Time enough for that later. Right now Ross needed a different sort of comfort, and not any more food.

Trott sat up propped against the headboard, Ross’ head on his stomach. Behind Ross, Smith spooned up against him. They laid there in silence for some time, Trott stroking Ross’ hair, and then Smith’s.

Ross felt hollow, frustrated and depressed by his visit to his family. Carefully sipping the cup of ginger ale, he kept hoping the feelings would just vanish. He was simultaneously exhausted and keyed up. Stretching carefully over Trott’s lap, he set the cup on the nightstand. Shrugging out of his shirt, he let it drop on the floor between the beds before he slumped back down.

“Okay?” asked Trott. Ross sighed, nodded. He closed his eyes. They felt tired and gritty, the light of the television too much.

“What can I do, sunshine?” Trott’s fingers traced the line of Ross’ brow.

Ross took a deep breath, thinking about the question. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself, or how to ease the ache in his chest. He just wanted to lose himself in their touch and pretend like this evening hadn’t happened at all.

Trott’s fingers moved gently over his face. Behind him, Smith pressed his lips to Ross’ bare shoulders, then looked up at Trott. They shared a long look. Smith wrapped himself more firmly around Ross, kissing his neck and the line of his shoulder. Slowly, Ross reached out for Trott’s hand. He pressed it firmly to his cheek, then kissed Trott’s knuckles. Trott rubbed his thumb across Ross’ lip.

Sliding out from under Ross, Trott found his suitcase at the foot of the bed. One of his ties was rolled up in the side pocket. When he straightened up, Trott spent a moment watching the others on the bed. Ross laid on his back, one arm curved around Smith’s neck as they kissed. Smith leaned up over him, trying to touch Ross everywhere. Ross’ muffled whimpering tugged at Trott, and he stumbled back to the bed. He left the television on, hoping the noise of it would blur any too loud sounds for their neighbors.

With gentle hands, Trott took Ross’ hand and looped the tie around his wrist. Ross’ noise was lost in the kiss. Pulling Ross’ other arm up over his head, Trott tied his wrists together with the plain red silk.

Ross moaned, a quiet and yearning sound. The pressure of the tie around his wrists and the weight of Smith holding him to the bed made him feel more grounded, more secure. Smith kissed his way down Ross’ throat, to his collarbone and the center of his chest. Trott pinned his wrists over his head, and tipped his chin up with one hand.

“This what you need?” Trott watched him, eyes dark. He was much more gentle and slow than usual. Normally he would insist on words, on a clear response. But he could see how Ross was struggling to find it in him to say what he wanted. Ross whimpered, flexing his wrists in Trott’s grasp.

“Okay Ross, if you need to stop, we’ll stop,” Trott said quietly.

“Both middle fingers up, remember?”  Ross wasn’t gagged, but he still reminded him of the nonverbal signal they had. Trott wanted to make sure Ross would be alright, even if he couldn’t find the words to ask them to stop.

Trott’s fingers brushed over Ross’ cheek. Ross nodded, leaning his face into Trott’s touch. Eyes closed, he concentrated on remembering to breathe, and the sense of safety he felt whenever he put himself in Trott’s hands. He made a soft, dismayed sound when he felt Smith slip away and off the bed.

“He’s coming back, sunshine, don’t worry.” There was a trace of humor in Trott’s voice. Pushing the pillows back, Trott moved between Ross and the headboard, legs stretched out on either side. He tugged Ross up so that he reclined against Trott. Ross’ bound hands rested on his stomach, his elbows on Trott’s thighs.

Smith bounced back onto the bed, a small bottle of lube in one hand. He tugged Ross’ boxers down impatiently, tossing them over his shoulder. He was already naked, having thrown off his clothes while searching Ross’ bag for the lube. Leaning forward over them, Smith kissed Ross heatedly, sucking at his lower lip.

“Smith,” Ross breathed out, overcome. He arched up, trying to press their bodies together. Trott’s hand curled around Ross’ throat, and he could feel the thump of Ross’ pulse under his jaw.

“You want Smith to fuck you?” Trott asked, feeling like he knew the answer but wanting to hear it from Ross. He tried to be extra careful with them, wary of the painful vulnerability they showed in trusting him so much.

“Yes,” Ross answered, his voice quiet but clear. Smith grinned, and Ross smiled back with his first genuine smile of the evening. There was a trust in that look that made Smith ache.

“God, I love you so much,” Smith whispered, resting his forehead on Ross’.  Between them, Ross lifted his bound hands to Smith’s chest. Trott stroked a hand through Smith’s hair, winding the waves around his fingers.

Slipping down, Smith steadied himself on his elbows between Ross’ legs. He mouthed at Ross’ cock while his fingers stroked down his thighs and between his legs.

Trott wrapped his arms around Ross’ shoulders, nuzzling his face into Ross’ hair. He held Ross’ wrists with one hand, watching Smith. The noises Ross made grew louder bit by bit, as Smith worked slick fingers inside him.

“We’ve got you, sunshine.” Trott kissed his head, holding Ross tightly. “Go slow, Smith, so he’ll relax a bit.”

“Mmhmm.” Smith kissed the inside of Ross’ thigh, sliding two fingers in and out of Ross. Hair tickled his nose, and he rubbed his face against Ross’ leg. With his other hand, Smith slowly stroked Ross’ cock.

“Fuck,” Ross whimpered. He drew his knees up, a shiver traveling the length of his spine. “Smith, please.” In the bluish glow from the television behind him, Smith’s shadow was dark over the pale lines of Ross’ legs.

Kneeling up between Ross’ legs, Smith wet his own cock generously with lube. He breathed hard through his nose, excited by Ross and Trott watching him. Smith lifted Ross’ legs, balancing them against his shoulders. With a slight smile, Ross bent his knee, and flicked Smith’s ear with his toes. Smith rolled his eyes, shifting himself into position. His hand on the curve of Ross’ ass distracted Ross from any more teasing.

Trott pulled Ross’ hands behind his head, holding him in place. Slowly, Smith pushed himself inside Ross. The sudden clench of Ross’ muscles made him groan.

“You feel so fucking good Ross, god.”

“That’s it,” Trott soothed. “Breathe, Ross, that’s it.” He felt Ross’ fingers curl, trying to touch his hand. Trott laced his fingers with Ross’ and squeezed.

Ross moaned, closing his eyes. But he blinked them back open, watching Smith hover over him, hands gripping Ross’ thighs. The shivery feeling that accompanied each thrust built up the arousal in his stomach, pleasure that drove every other thought out of his mind. When Trott stretched his other hand down to brush Ross’ cock, he moaned loudly.

“Come for me, Ross,” Smith urged, thrusting into him. “I want to hear you.”

“You’re doing so well, sunshine,” Trott praised as Ross trembled between them, breath hitching each time Trott ran his fingers up the length of his cock. Ross’ voice grew louder, a mix of moans and swearing that Trott didn’t even try to hush. Smith’s eyes were focused on Ross, his pupils wide in the half light.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Smith, please don’t stop don’t stop-” Ross’ voice broke in a gasp and Trott felt him come, his cock jerking in Trott’s grip.

“There you are, that’s it, breathe.” Trott slowed his strokes. He wiped his hand carelessly on the sheet before cupping Ross’ cheek.

“That was perfect,” Trott whispered, kissing the top of Ross’ head. Above them, Smith groaned with pleasure, not slowing his thrusts as Ross whimpered and shuddered.

“That’s it,” Smith hissed. “Yes, yes -” He sucked in a breath, his own orgasm hovering dangerously close. Smith looked at Trott, half delighted and half pleading.

“You did good, Smith.” Trott’s praise was warm, an implied permission. Smith laughed breathlessly, and he leaned forward, bending Ross almost in half. Ross pointed his toes, and Trott could see the way his leg muscles shifted. Sometimes, he wondered how he’d ended up with the most beautiful people he’d ever met. Smith’s head hung down, and Trott admired the line of his shoulders.

With a muffled groan, Smith came. For a few heartbeats they rocked together before Smith sat back. They untangled, Smith scooting backwards enough to slide out from between Ross’ legs and fall heavily on the bed beside him. Trott released Ross’ wrists, lowering his hands back down. He left the tie on for the moment, knowing Ross liked to stay bound in the immediate aftermath of such moments. Trott kissed the top of his head again, feeling Ross sag into him.

For several minutes the loudest noise in the room was the television, still droning away on top of the dresser. Trott shifted a little, letting his own arousal fade. He didn’t really much want to do anything about it. Ross would no doubt gladly get on his knees but Trott just wanted this to be about Ross, and taking care of him.

“You alright, Ross?” Trott asked, his voice barely over a whisper. His fingers played with the tie around Ross’ wrists.

“Think he’s gone to sleep,” Smith said after a moment. He propped himself up on an elbow to brush Ross’ face with his finger tips.

“Oof, he’s right on my bladder,” Trott grumped good naturedly. Smith helped him wiggle out from underneath their sleeping partner. Ross mumbled incoherently as Smith untied his hands, not quite awake. Smith wrestled with the bedclothes, trying to pull them out from under Ross with less than full cooperation.

When Trott returned from the bathroom, Smith had turned off the television and found his boxers. He leaned on his elbow, watching Ross sleep. Trott settled back on the other side of Ross, tucking himself under the sheet. As Smith handed him a pillow, Trott thought a lot of things Ross did made a lot more sense in light of this visit.

“I had no idea his family was like that,” Smith said pensively. “How can they be so awful, Trott?” A mix of fury and sadness filled Smith’s expression.

“Sometimes people are,” Trott said.

“They don’t even care!” Smith’s voice rose slightly. “They don’t seem to even notice him! And this shit with his dog! Who does that?”

“I know,” Trott soothed, reaching over to rub Smith’s arm.

“He cried, and I’ve never seen him cry like that, not even when the dog dies in movies…”

Trott chewed on his lip. Between them, Ross slept obliviously. He was a deep sleeper, waking only for the shrill tones of an alarm.

“All we can do is be here for him,” he said finally. Trott watched Smith kiss Ross’ forehead, and felt his throat ache at the tenderness of the gesture combined with the fierce expression of protectiveness on Smith’s face.

“Are you alright?” Trott asked, reaching over to touch Smith’s cheek, his stubble rough under the tips of Trott’s fingers.

“Yeah,” Smith sighed. “Just. I don’t want to see him cry like that again.”

“Agreed.” Trott stretched, stifling a yawn. They watched Ross sleep for another moment, the easy and rise and fall of his chest. Exhausted, Trott let his eyes close, shifting down to rest his head on the pillow.

“Trott,” Smith said, an urgency to his voice that snapped Trott out of his doze.

“What?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and looking over Ross’ shoulder. He was still asleep, having curled over into Smith.

“We can’t let him go there for Thanksgiving or Christmas.” Smith looked frantic at the thought. Holidays were a thing for Smith, and his family celebrated them with immense cheer. Trott had spent a Christmas there, when his parents were in Europe on a long trip during university. He’d been surrounded by the chaos of dozens of family members in and out of the house, children underfoot, an oven always on to bake something, the excess of decorations everywhere. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, restrained elegance of his family home. Trott loved it though, because it was so clearly the place that made Smith everything he was.

“I mean, can you imagine what horrors that woman would do to a proper Thanksgiving meal?” Smith continued in a furious whisper. “And even if they got it catered, those people don’t deserve him. Trott, we can’t let him come back here. ”

Trott nodded. He put his hand over Smith’s, where it lingered on Ross’ back.

“We’ll figure something out, sunshine. Now go the fuck to sleep.” He leaned across Ross to kiss Smith, softening the words.

Smith nodded, settling back down. Rolling over, Trott switched off the lamp.

 

* * *

 

Sleeping three to a just slightly too small queen bed was not Trott’s prescription for a good night’s rest. But Ross looked better in the morning, and managed to eat two waffles from the hotel breakfast before they checked out. Smith leaned on his elbow, drinking the watery orange juice with his eyes mostly closed. The television on the wall blared some morning news show that they tried to ignore.

“Ride up front with me, Smith looks like he just wants to go back to sleep.”  Trott took the car keys from Ross, slipping on his sunglasses against the early summer light.

“Just going to take a nap,” Smith yawned. He crawled into the back seat, curling over and resting his head on Trott’s laptop bag.

“Sure.” Ross slung their suitcases into the trunk. He fished his own sunglasses out of his pocket, squinting in the light. He wore one of Smith’s shirts, but Trott didn’t say anything. With Ross, it was definitely intentional.

Trott didn’t especially like to drive. But Smith was too easily distracted, and he didn’t want to try to get Ross to talk while he navigated the traffic. They’d missed the morning rush hour, so it wasn’t too bad. By the time they were on the highway, Smith was asleep. He’d drawn his knees up, managing to fold his lanky frame into the backseat of the car. His jacket was folded into a pillow against the door.

“So your parents don’t know,” Trott said quietly, turning the radio down to a soft murmur.

“Nope,” Ross sighed. “That’s a conversation I haven’t even tried to have, obviously.” He turned his head slightly, looking out the window. The landscape wasn’t anything special, suburbs and half developed fields stretching between the major cities. It wasn’t hot yet, the sky studded with drifts of clouds.

“I’m not judging,” Trott continued. “You know I’m not out at all because of my family.”

“Different though, isn’t it?” Ross leaned his head back against his seat. “They actually seem to give a damn about you.”

Trott frowned at the bitterness in Ross’ voice. He was surprised by the envy. Trott thought they had talked enough about the complications in his relationship with this parents, the pressure that kept him from living as freely as he would like.

“Ross…” he sighed.

“I know, I know.” Ross sounded angry now. “I’m sure they probably love me, somewhere in there. Once you get past how successful and talented and perfect my sister is, or how needy and smart and precious my little brother is.” He laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. “It’s like some fucking fairytale, where I got the defective fairy godmother or something.”

“You know that’s not how it works.”

“What I know is that I’ll never be as talented or smart as either of them, so there’s not any point. I’m just boring old Ross, not worth the time or the trouble.”

“You’re not boring, sunshine.” Trott reached across to touch Ross’ arm, looking away from the road for a moment. “And you’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

“Nothing’s ever been good enough for them” Ross said, after a long silence. “Maddie was always the special one, and my mom was always rushing around doing stuff for her. Every day there was something, practice or a game or whatever.”

Trott could imagine it clearly. A family calendar full of practices, two or three a week, and then games on the weekends. Special camps, overnight trips, bake sales, fundraisers. Sports in the off season, extra training. Having a kid in organized sports was busy enough even without trying to make them into a mini-professional.

“Then when Oliver started having problems, she was taking him to the doctor.” Ross shook his head. “He was in and out of specialists more than he was at school it seemed for awhile there. I got used to there not being time for me.”

“That’s not okay, you know. That’s not normal, or fair, or whatever.”

“I don’t know what’s normal,” Ross said. “I guess you think whatever you grow up with is normal.”

“What about your dad?” asked Trott. He didn’t imagine Dr Hornby spent very much time helping out with the kids.

“Working.” Ross shrugged. “He’s always worked a lot.”

“Did you spend any time together?”

“He took me golfing once when I was about eleven, at the country club right after they joined.” Ross looked pained by the memory. “I wasn’t any good. Just kept missing. My dad was furious. Chewed me out, and didn’t let me finish.”

“That’s horrible.” Trott could picture it all too clearly.

“I just remember him yelling, and wanting to sink right into the ground.”

“Shit,” Trott said.

“I was so excited when we went,” Ross said wistfully. “I thought maybe this would be a thing we could start doing, something we could do just the two of us. I totally fucked it up though.”

“You were eleven!” Trott exclaimed. “You didn’t know how to play golf, Ross, that’s not fucking it up.”

“Not the way my dad sees it.”

“Your dad seems like a bit of an asshole,” Trott said.

“Not going to disagree,” Ross said, his smile sardonic. “I really wanted him to like me.”

Trott shook his head, his expression grim. Dr Hornby struck him as an unforgiving perfectionist. He wondered more now, about that chilling comment about Ross’ brother going pre-med. It sounded like bad blood with his father, an old argument. Ross had changed majors probably a half dozen times at university, he knew. Clearly Dr Hornby had wanted something else from his son.

“Was your mom’s cooking always that bad?” Trott asked, changing lanes to avoid a lumbering eighteen wheeler. Ross laughed, shifting in his seat.

“Believe me, that was downright gourmet compared to some of the shit we used to eat,” he snorted.

“Ugh,” Trott groaned.

“She can only cook a couple things, so it was the same meals week after week,” Ross said, shaking his head at the memories. “Canned vegetables heated up on the stove, meatloaf or casserole. Pork chop night was good, because that usually meant potatoes and it’s hard to fuck up potatoes if you put enough cheese and sour cream on them.”

“No wonder you are so pissy about meals. Did they really make you sit at the table until you finished?” Trott found the idea barbaric.

“Yeah,” Ross nodded. “Thank god for Spencer, I fed so much terrible crap to that poor dog.” Ross’ eyes watered, and he blinked rapidly. Turning his head to look out the window, he tried to keep the grief at bay. His fingernails dug into his palm.

“I’m really sorry, Ross.” Trott’s voice was gentle, quietly sad. He’d never had a dog, couldn’t imagine. But Ross’ grief was clear even as he struggled to keep it under wraps.

“Yeah. I can’t believe he’s gone.” Ross shook his head, clearing his throat.

Trott reached over again, taking Ross’ hand. He held on until he had to change lanes, exiting for another endless highway. At least they were going against the flow. The other side of the road crawled with cars as people left the city for the weekend.

“I used to try to stay at other kid’s houses for dinner, all the time,” Ross reminisced. He folded one knee up, wrapping his arms around his leg. “I’d make friends with anyone who had homemade cookies in their lunch. Offer to do their homework or whatever in exchange for food.”

“Are you kidding me?” Trott raised his eyebrows.

“Nope,” Ross laughed. “Pretty sure the most attractive thing about my high school girlfriend was that her mother was an amazing cook. I feel bad about that, I spent so much time at their house, they probably thought I was going to marry her.”

“Oh Ross.” Trott ached at the thought of it. “I’m so sorry, sunshine.” He felt guilty about all the times he’d complained about what Ross spent on groceries, or the mess in the kitchen. He had never considered that Ross was compensating for a lifetime of wretched home cooking. Though Trott would never have imagined cooking that bad was a real thing, if he hadn’t eaten it.

“It’s okay,” Ross said. “It’s mostly fine. I don’t go home much, do I?” He tried to sound casual, but that bitterness tinted his words. Hunching forward against the seatbelt, Ross rested his chin on his knee.

“You don’t ever have to go back, you know.” Trott watched Ross tuck himself smaller in the passenger seat, curling up with both knees to his chest.

“I know. But I feel bad, for how much I don’t. And how much I don’t want to.”

“Ross…” Trott felt his chest tighten. The guilt and frustrating swirl of emotions that came with family obligations were familiar to him. Seeing it in Ross though, was a strange and difficult experience.

“They probably don’t even notice though,” Ross continued. “Anyhow, I’ve paid the family tax until the holidays.”

“About that,” Trott began. He glanced into the rear view mirror. Smith was still slumped down out of sight, presumably sleeping.

“Smith and I think you should spend the holidays with us, instead.” Trott took a deep breath, steadying his hands on the wheel. “We could stay in the city, or we could go to Smith’s family, they have an absolute mad house for Christmas. You’d love the food, it is incredibly good. We just want you to be with us, wherever that is.”

Ross glanced over, then quickly back out the window. When he finally spoke, his voice wavered slightly on the first couple words.

“Really, Trott, it’s fine. I don’t need pity-” Trott cut him off, holding up his hand.

“Sunshine, this isn’t pity, this is Smith and I’s flat out horror about your mother’s cooking.” Trott tried to sound casual about it. Smith would no doubt insist, beg, plead, pull all his usual tricks to talk Ross into the holidays. But Trott wanted to float the idea first, so Ross wouldn’t shoot it down immediately as one of Smith’s impulsive thoughts.

Ross snorted. His fingers fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt.

“You know how Smith is about holidays,” Trott continued. He didn’t look at Ross as he navigated through the mid morning traffic, trying to give him a moment to compose himself. “It’s one of his favorite things in the world, next to you.”

Ross closed his eyes. They’d never spent a full Christmas together in the two years they’d been a thing. Ross put off the family obligation as much as he could, only spending two days down with his family, and escaping as quickly as possible. Smith and Trott usually spent a few days with their families, and he knew Trott often joined Smith for part of the holiday depending on where his family was for the year.

“Just think about it, alright?”

“Okay, Trott.” The idea of staying with Smith and Trott was both exciting and a little nerve wracking. He so often thought of them as a unit since they’d been a couple long before he came around. Ross sometimes wondered if he really belonged with them. Being invited home for Christmas though, it felt like something new. Maybe more serious. Ross was surprised at how much he suddenly wanted this. The possibility of making a choice, of being wanted somewhere, seized him and made it hard to speak.  

“Good boy,” Trott said quietly. He reached out and brushed his fingers through Ross’ hair. Ross closed his eyes, holding on to the warm glow of comfort he felt from Trott’s words.


End file.
